


There Once Was...

by TheDeepSeaWitch



Category: Naruto
Genre: Also reminder that these two were Child Soldiers, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, But Hashirama's not allowed to tell the story right now, Comedy, Dissociation, Even after years of peace, Family, Family Stories, For being years dead the Lady Senju sure is prominent, Hurt/Comfort, LOTS of Family Feels here, M/M, Nostalgia, There's still gonna be problems, Tobirama talking so much feels so damn OC, Unresolved Romantic Tension, mentioned minor character death, preslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 20:10:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8937454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDeepSeaWitch/pseuds/TheDeepSeaWitch
Summary: "The origin of the Shodaime's necklace didn't start with him, nor was it ever really about him. Instead, it started with a free-spirited warrior woman by the name of Igarashi Hisoka."An alternate take on the origins of Hashirama's magically bijuu-controlling rock and the Senju brothers themselves.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I forget what inspired this, but I plotted it down and wrote it all down in one sitting.
> 
> This takes place a couple years after the Senju and Uchiha clans establish peace and Konoha is founded. Izuna is not dead and Madara and Tobirama are friends by now.
> 
> *Edited slightly to make it a bit more coherent in one part.

If his father were still alive to see him now, he has little doubt he would be disowned, imprisoned, and his companion would be either chained in a cell or dead. Tobirama doesn't know if it makes him a bad son for considering it fortunate that Butsuma is close to a decade dead in this case.

As it stands now, however, Tajima's eldest son is inside his house, having been invited in to discuss business related to establishing new space for several incoming clans wanting to join the village. Hashirama was normally included in these topics, but he was out in the village with Mito and their newborn son presently.

Two hours had passed by now, and they made as much progress as they were going to make without Hashirama or meeting representatives to survey the area. The Haruno, Maito and Yuuhi clans were all fairly small groups nearly made extinct by the fighting and were now seeking shelter under the banner of the Leaf. Tobirama knows from experience that the physical techniques of the Maito are devastatingly effective, and he's heard rumors in the past of Yuuhi trapping entire squads of shinobi in genjutsu so layered they were never able to escape alive. The Haruno are a newer clan compared to most, but already knowledge of their proficiency with chakra was starting to spread.

Across the table, Madara folds the missives containing the clans' letters of proposal and sets them aside with practiced neatness. "What do you think of them?" He asks, black eyes curious and a little tired, a glint of triumph and deep contentment in his gaze that's been present since the treaty between their families was signed and sealed.

Tobirama hums low in his throat and reaches for the steaming kettle off to his left. He refills their cups as he organizes his thoughts. "Disregarding the fact that brother will welcome them on principle," he ignores the way Madara rolls his eyes at the mention of Hashirama's altruistic generosity, "all three clans have something to offer the village. They will make good additions, provided they can integrate well."

"Smaller clans have reported to have trouble living and sleeping with so many other shinobi so close by," Madara notes with a frown and reaches for his cup.

"And larger clans have proven to be more reluctant to work with non-clansmen on assignments," Tobirama points out, but does not disagree. "The Haruno are new enough that they don't have any long-established rivalries or allies, but the Maito and recently-accepted Hatake have always been, if not neutral, then at least honorable and respectful of each other. I wouldn't recommend placing the Yuuhi near the Uchiha or the Hyuuga, though. A clan of genjutsu-specialists will be easily agitated if forced to live near someone famous for counters to their techniques."

The older man snorts derisively and smirks at that. Having the past three years to actually get to know the man has taught Tobirama that Madara is more prideful of his heritage than most, even if he's refrained from acquiring the superiority complex such attitudes usually inspire. He's sure Madara finds amusement in the idea of sparking unease just by walking by someone. He's just as sure that Madara would tire of such reactions just as quickly.

The tea tastes faintly sweet when he goes to take a sip. It's certainly not his favorite, but the scent it gives off is pleasant and calming. Something itches and pulls at the hairs on the back of his neck, so he reaches a finger inside the collar of his black shirt and pulls out the necklace hidden beneath to untangle the claps.

Madara makes a noise across the table and Tobirama looks up to find him studying the necklace with blatant curiosity. "I wasn't aware you were the type to wear jewelry," he says neutrally even as the rest of him reads as faint surprise.

"It's a tradition from my mother's clan," he admits, running careful fingers over the blue and white porcelain charms. They easily find the the tiny characters inscribed on the fronts, the charms themselves having long been flipped over to hide them. The string is a thin chain, not long or thick enough to be anything but easily hidden ornamentation, ending in small metal clasps. It won't break anytime soon. He's made sure of that.

Madara leans forward and rests his elbows on the table, tea cup clutched loosely in both hands close to his face. "Hashirama has never mentioned your mother. What clan was she from?"

"The Igarashi, in Iron Country." Tobirama hides a faint smirk behind his tea when Madara chokes on his drink.

" _Iron Country_?" The Uchiha chokes out between struggling to clear his windpipe. "Your mother was an _Onna-Bugeisha_?"

"You've heard of the Igarashi, then?"

"I don't think there's a single nobleman in the mainland countries who hasn't," Madara grumbles with a disgruntled scowl, rubbing his chest. "For a family of samurai, they're also one of the leading exporters of high-quality gemstones in the world. Some of our most well-paid missions where the acquisition or transport of Igarashi jewelry. How the hell did Butsuma manage to meet her, let alone marry her?"

The smirk on his lips slides into a genuine smile as he remembers the countless times his mother took joy in retelling the story to anyone who had the patience. A sense of nostalgia fills him as he stares into his tea. He hadn't realized that he missed hearing it, in the years that she's been dead. "Funny story, that," Tobirama says quietly as he lowers his own cup to the table.

"My mother was born Igarashi Hisoka, in a small mountain village that sprang up around one of their gem mines. The Igarashi had lived there for generations and saw little need to live in the Daimyo's court in the capital. It was a small family, but they'd made a good living buying the contracts of prostitutes and hiring so-called undesirables and bringing them to the town, teaching them how to mine, cut gems and make jewelry. Mother said that the towns folk all looked up to the Igarashi, and that they seemed grateful for their new conditions.

"She grew up learning merchantry and Bushido side-by-side, and was to be be married to a powerful merchant's son when she came of age. However, in her own words, Hisoka had a freer spirit than most would have preferred in a daughter. Instead of following her family's wishes and going along with the betrothal, she ran away."

"Seriously?" Madara asks, mouth twisted in surprised disbelief, tea forgotten and chilling in his hands. "But couldn't she have just negotiated with her family? Why would she leave them?"

Tobirama shrugged one shoulder and took another sip of his tea. "Grandfather was a stubborn man. According to Mother, the union would have fulfilled several lucrative trade negotiations, but her future husband was a fool who couldn't even balance his books right. She had no desire to be anywhere near him, let alone be married to him."

"Doesn't that sound vaguely like someone I know..." Madara mutters under his breath. Tobirama hears it anyway. He raises a pale eyebrow at the Uchiha and pointedly says nothing more. Madara grimaces at him and asks snappishly, "Well? How does she get out? If she was still in Iron Country when she met your father, I somehow doubt you'd be here right now."

"You'd be correct," Tobirama allows with a nod. "Mother took only some food, some sensible travel clothes, her swords and some heirlooms to sell when her money ran out. She was able to travel all the way east into Earth Country, then south past Stone, and down into the edges of the Rōran desert. She traveled east again and nearly made it out of Wind before men her father hired to find her caught up. And apparently being a shrewd merchant doesn't necessarily qualify you as a judge of character or perhaps these men were simply practiced actors. When they caught up to her, Hisoka tried to fight them off, nearly succeeding, before realizing the men had coated their blades in paralytics.

They seem to have been under the impression that they could ransom her back to Grandfather for more than they would be paid for her safe return already. However, she spotted a small group of travelers heading towards them. When they got close enough, she was able to recognize them as shinobi and called out to them that she'd lend her blade to their clan for 10 years if they assist her. They recognized her as samurai-trained and, knowing the value of a samurai's word and blade, agreed. With their assistance, Hisoka was able to finish off the rest of her pursuers, leaving one alive to inform her father not to look for her again. And this is where the story gets interesting."

Amusement curls heavily through him, pulling at the corners of his eyes and lips as he lifts his gaze from where it rested on his cooling tea. Madara is staring at him attentively, chin on his palm and hair pushed out of his face so that both eyes are fully visible. Privately, the Senju likens the expression to a curious bird he'd seen picking at a ball once as a child and concentrates on making sure one corner of his lip is no higher than the other.

"You see, the shinobi Hisoka encountered that day was a team of Senju out on a mission to deliver an important missive to the Daimyo of Wind. This group also happened to contain my father. My father, who, according to Mother, had done so poorly in assisting her against the mercenaries that she actually spent half the battle rescuing _him_."

The Uchiha didn't even try to stop the laughter that burst forth, his body shaking hard enough that he had to lean on his elbow to avoid falling over. Madara covers his eyes with one hand and smiles with gleeful amusement. He sets his cup down to avoid spilling it down his front.

Tobirama continues, just as amused. "When it was over, he gave the excuse that he'd been stung by a desert scorpion soon after he'd woken up that morning. He hadn't been." Madara cut him off with another short rumble of laughter, and Tobirama can feel the urge rising in himself. "It was minor heat stroke and inexperience with fighting on sand. Mother scolded him for his poor preparation."

The feared Uchiha Madara, leader of the Uchiha clan and second founder of the first shinobi village in history, wielder of the dreaded Mangekyo Sharingan and a fighter second only to Hashirama himself, falls over like an inelegant toddler, laughing and snickering until he's red in the face and wheezing.

Tobirama allows himself a few chuckles in the face of the image of his father, the once famed and feared former head of the Senju clan, falling down in the sand and being lambasted by a poisoned and struggling onna-bugeisha for being such a complete failure of a warrior. He gives Madara time to pull himself into a sitting position again. He ignores the coughing and snickering as he continues.

"Afterwards, when they'd found an antidote for the poison on one of the mercenaries, Hisoka told the shinobi that she would follow them on their mission and return to the compound to fulfill her vow. When they arrived, Butsuma's father Takima demanded that Hisoka either marry into the clan or leave. Father had managed to incur her affections somehow by then, so she agreed to marry him, and vowed to teach any children she had with him the way of the sword. _"They have to acquire competence from somewhere if they want to live, don't they?"_ "

A smirk lingers on Madara's lips when Tobirama looks at him again, soft and happy in a way he rarely sees from the man. The corners of his eyes are tilted up and he looks like he's just been let in on a secret. It's a good look on him, Tobirama thinks, almost as good as smug, or satisfied, or intent, and he let's the thought drift away before it can take root. It's getting more difficult these days to let such thoughts go.

"That's why you're so good with a blade?" The man asks. Madara goes to take another drink from his tea, only to recoil in disgust when he tastes how cold it's become. There's a flare of chakra across Tobirama's senses, fire bright and crackling like burning wood, and the cup starts to steam once more. He ignores the way the scent of wild sunflowers wants to leap to the forefront of his mind whenever he feels Madara's chakra lately.

Instead, he nods at the older man's question and takes a sip to sooth his throat. The cool liquid eases the ache somewhat, even if the chill enhances the sweetness of the flavor. He can't remember the last time he had spoken so much in a single conversation.

"Thank you," Tobirama sighs after a long moment of silence. "I haven't had cause to remember that story since Mother died."

That admission leads to another thought, and all the mirth and joy from a few minutes ago drains out of him, leaving behind something hollow and cold. "After she died, father decided to sell all her belongings to fund the war, particularly the necklace that was her family's tradition. When a child is born into the Igarashi, the parents select a small gem from their stock and make a charm out of it, presenting it to the child as a sign that they are accepted and welcomed by the family. Those who marry in are given much the same by either the parents of the betrothed or the family head. Mother couldn't do the same for my brothers and I, or father, being so far from the mines, but she replicated it as best she could with porcelain and paint."

He reaches up and hesitantly unclasps the necklace. He flips it over and holds it out so that Madara can read 'Tobirama' imprinted deeply into the blue charm and 'Itama' into the white. The paint only becomes distinguishable when he moves them under the shaft of sunlight that streams in through the study window.

The paint turns otherwise dull and flat ceramic into something faceted and shimmering, like fractals embedded in a crystal. If he reaches back, he can remember sitting with his mother, watching as she painstakingly painted every individual pattern into a blue charm just like his. That one would be given to Kawarama when he was old enough to know it wasn't to be swallowed. He died not 3 years later.

He hears Madara's quiet intake of breath. A pale hand reaches out to touch the smooth surfaces of the charms, at first reaching for the white, hesitating, and then diverting to blue. Something selfish and still hurting in him is glad the Uchiha didn't try to touch Itama's charm. He's quick to ruthlessly shove that part of himself away.

Madara retreats after briefly examining Tobirama's charm. Tobirama takes this as a sign and secures the necklace back around his neck, ignoring the minor feeling of relief as the familiar weight settles. He glances at the other man and sees black eyes regarding the white charm with familiar solemnity.

Madara knows the grief of loss as well. Of Tajima's children, only he and Izuna are left. Just like Tobirama only has Hashirama left.

_Breathe in. One. Two. Three. Breathe out._

"It's tradition in the Igarashi for the parents to inherit the charm of any of their children than don't make it to adulthood. Mother became ill not long before Kawarama died, and she received his charm when he did. When Itama died soon after that, she received his as well. Days after that, the sickness claimed her. Adults are normally buried with them all, but after we learned what father intended to do, Hashirama scrambled to retrieve what little he could get to before father sold it all. He managed get to mother's kanzashi, her necklace, our brother's charms, and her old incense box and asked me to hide them where I knew father wouldn't find them. Neither of us would tell him where I hid them, no matter how much he punished us. This was the week before the confrontation at the river that drove you and Hashirama apart."

In a way, he can understand why Butsuma was in such a hurry to get rid of the items. The worth of the necklace alone would have bought them weapons, fortifications, supplies and possibly even allies that they would have won the war with. The Senju would have ruled as the undisputed strongest shinobi clan in Fire Country. They might have been able to become the personal assassins of the Daimyo. They might have been able to challenge the Daimyo for right to govern Fire Country. Their livelihoods would have been secured for the next few generations at least if they played their cards right.

That reason, as important as it is, pales in comparison to the way he suspects Butsuma truly viewed those things; reminders of his lost children and his vivid, fierce, honorable wife.

Senju Hisoka, who was once Igarashi Hisoka, who had hair like spun moonlight and a wide smile her eldest son would inherit in full. Who fought as fiercely as she loved and dared to make her own path in this world that tried to take everything she fought to gain.

It is not something Tobirama would ever consider doing himself. But he can understand the desire to forget all the same.

(He would have liked to forget that Butsuma told him, only once, just after she died, that Tobirama had always been his mother's child.

He never saw Butsuma's charm. All he knows is that his father was buried with it.)

Across the table, Madara gives an aggravated hiss and rakes a hand through his mass of hair. There's a scowl on his face and a glint in his eye that reminds Tobirama of crackling embers. "Heartless asshole," he growls lowly. "He wouldn't even give you your brother's charms? That's not right."

Tobirama finds he has neither the energy or the desire to dispute the other man. Instead he gives what he hopes is a patient red stare and waits for the man to reign his temper in.

Finally, Madara visibly reigns himself in and with forced calm asks, "What happened to the items? You obviously have one of your brother's charms."

A topic not quite so hard to contemplate. Tobirama hides his relief. "We kept them hidden until father perished. Afterwards, we split them amongst ourselves - Hashirama kept Mother's necklace, the green crystal necklace he wears to official events, and Kawarama's charm. He also later gifted her kanzashi to Mito as a wedding present. I kept Itama's charm and her incense box. It hasn't been opened since before she died though, so I don't know if it even still has any sticks left in it."

"Where is it?"

Tobirama frowns in concentration. "I moved it to one of the shelves in my closet after I moved into this house. I take it you'd like to see it?"

Madara nods, "If you wouldn't mind showing me."

\----------------------

It was on the top shelf of his closet, right in the shadow of the door so as to not be immediately visible. There's a healthy amount of dust on the lacquered surface, the black-dyed wood still shiny and smooth beneath the mess. Tobirama uses a damp cloth to wipe as much dust off as he can and wonders when was the last time he went out of his way to look at it.

Madara lingers in the doorframe, politely waiting to be invited into another shinobi's living space. Tobirama waves him in and doesn't look to see where he sets himself. Instead, he refamiliarizes himself with the old box that doubled as a burner.

The box rectangular, a foot long with three small flowers painted in pale gold on either side. The top consists of a sliding panel sunk slightly in, three of it's four edges forming a small lip to help contain the ashes from the incense. There are several small burn marks where embers fell, not quite extinguished yet, and couldn't be polished away. If he pulls on the side of the panel opposite the slanted hole where the incense stick goes, he knows he'll be able to see inside.

When Hisoka had been alive, she'd always kept the box stocked with sticks waiting to be burned. She liked the way the smell would seep into her clothes and hair. Even Butsuma must have liked the scent, as he never complained about how often she wore it. After she was gone, the familiar scent faded away with time until only the study, where she often burned as she worked, carried even the faintest whiff.

Tobirama recognizes his hesitation and the reason for it. Nostalgia caresses the edge of his mind, and with it comes an edge of pain that has dulled only slightly over the years. He frowns at himself in consternation. He rather deliberately places a finger on the panel and pulls.

The panel slides open more easily than he remembers, revealing that several sticks did, in fact, linger inside, but before his mind can file away the forgotten detail, Tobirama is hit in the face with the heavy odor of sandalwood and cloves.

He's 4 again, having been beckoned by his mother to sit in her lap as she does finances in his father's study. His forehead was pressed into her neck and the scent of sandalwood and cloves is all around him. Her hair, moon pale just like his, is pulled over her shoulder to drape over him, just like she did when he has a nightmare and needs to be held. Tobirama wouldn't be able to sit in her lap much longer. Not only would father start frowning at him for being such a child, but mother's belly was growing larger again, just like it did with Itama. He didn't want to squish his new brother or sister.

It's silent and peaceful but for the scratching of her quill, infinitely preferable to being around Hashirama when he's in a mood for a moment longer. Itama was currently sleeping soundly for once in another room. He was loud and fussy around bed time for an otherwise well-behaved two-year old. Then again, Itama was still better than Hashirama, who acted similarly at 7.

His mother was smiling, and occasionally she would ask him questions about how much this amount being added or subtracted to that amount would make. He liked answering those questions. When he got them right, her smile got wider.

_"That's right, Tobirama."_

Tobirama feels unsteady after returning to himself, the powerful memory leaving something inside him scraped raw and ragged, but not quite bleeding. The panel slides shut with the quiet scrape of wood on wood and he waits for the air to clear before he breathes in again. The scent lingers in the back of his mind, the sense-memory of it renewed and persistently tugging at the frayed edges, and his throat feels tight and hard. Red eyes cast about the room, desperately looking for something else to distract him.

The sight of Madara sitting at his desk and studying a wall scroll reminds him where he is and what he was doing. He's playing host to Uchiha Madara, who asked to see his mother's incense box after being told the story of Hashirama and he hiding their mother's things from their father as children.

Tobirama shuts the closet door with more care than was necessary, and tries using the act of crossing the room to collect himself with little success. Sitting himself at the table, he silently places the box in front of Madara. A strange kind of numbness sits in his mind at the moment, one that makes his thoughts slower than normal. It's almost peaceful how sights and sounds seem further away. He debates lingering in the fog for a moment longer, before closing his eyes and focusing on the feeling of fire bright and burning wood and the memory-scent of sunflowers on the edge of his senses.

(Chakra and people have always had a strong association with scents in his mind, ever since he was a young child. Hashirama has always reminded him of clean wet moss. Mito was the aftermath of a storm. Tōka made him think about freshly forged steel. Izuna became the earthiness of a chrysanthemum, Kagami was of the freshness of peonies, and Madara lingered in his lungs like the sweet headiness of wild sunflowers.)

_Breathe in. One. Two. Three. Breathe out._

The gentle clack of wood on wood brings him back, feeling much more steady and present than he had previously. Madara's eyes are on him, observant and unreadable. The Incense box is between them, and the Uchiha's hand lingers on it like he's waiting to push it forward or take it back. He must see something as a moment later, he pushes the box towards Tobirama and retreats again. "What will you do with it?" He asks softly, like something will shatter if he's a decibel louder.

Tobirama takes the box back and examines it again, turning it over in his hands. It's not something he's ever contemplated before. Before the treaty, before the village, he'd always assumed either Hashirama or Toka would inherit it when he died, and after, he'd been too used to it not being there to think about it.

Now that it's right here in his hands, though, the answer comes more easily than he expected. "If Hashirama has a daughter, or even a granddaughter, I'll give it to her. She deserves to have a piece of her family history, after all."

"Why not wait for yours?" Madara asks with a confused frown.

The question brings a smile that Tobirama manages to keep only partly bitter. "Because my preferred choice in partner is highly unlikely to have a functional womb."

Madara turns bright red at that, to Tobirama's visible amusement, and the sight banishes some of the bitterness and mental fatigue. The older man gives him a glower that doesn't hold any heat and rolls his eyes at him. A smirk twitches at the edges of the Uchiha's lips.

(Tobirama tries not to linger in thoughts of kissing him, of Madara joining him in bed for the evening, of Hashirama presenting Madara with his own charm - his own acceptance and welcome into the family, of one day adopting a little boy or a little girl who will look at the both of them and call them 'daddy' and 'papa'.

Madara is a clan head. He's expected to continue his family line, to take a wife and have a blood child of his own. And Madara is more prideful of his heritage than most, even if he's managed to avoid the superiority complex most gain from such an attitude. It makes the most sense that he will choose the path that let's him continue that heritage.

Tobirama can't do that. Even he knows not to take fools bets.

So he'll content himself with his studies, and his new students, his duties to the Senju and the Village. Despite things looking better in recent years, he's still used to getting second best, still _being_ second best to the people he cares about most. He doesn't see that changing anytime soon, so he will take what scraps he can get and ask for nothing more.

Still, he hears the quiet clunk of incense moving in the box in his hands, feels the heavy weight of two tiny porcelain charms around his neck, smells sandalwood and clove and wild sunflowers in the back of his throat. He sees a smirk that lightens into a smile and eyes that linger a moment longer than necessary. Knows that these things are meant for him and him alone and thinks, maybe.

Maybe.)

_Breathe in. One. Two. Three. Breathe out._

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
